Don't Be A Hero
by Darling Pretty
Summary: "I know you, Herbert Alfred. You are a gentleman and a hero. And this is the only time I have ever despised those traits in you." London, 1917, and Bert gives Mary the bad news. Mary becomes selfish. Mary/Bert oneshot.


**Something a little different for me. I do hope it's decent!**

**I do not own Mary Poppins or Bert Alfred, which is simply depressing. I also do not own the First World War, which I can't say I'm unhappy about.**

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><p><em>London, 1917<em>

The London skies seem a little bluer, the sun a little warmer, the grass a little greener. The birds sing a little sweeter and the bees hum along merrily, rarely forced to sting anyone. Of course, this isn't terribly unusual, since it _is _the first day of spring, but it's more than that. There's more of a driving force to the sudden cheeriness.

Mary Poppins has returned to London and London is happy to welcome her back.

She hasn't presented herself to her new charges yet, figuring one more day without Mary Poppins couldn't hurt. Besides, for some inexplicable reason, she finds herself drawn to the park where she knows Bert will be. Okay, so maybe it's not exactly _inexplicable_, but it's different, urgent. Usually she'll wait until she's introduced herself and then take her new charges to the park. But she just knows that she doesn't have that sort of time this visit. She just knows it is imperative that she get to the park _today_.

It doesn't take her long to find Bert sketching in chalk on the sidewalk. "Hold still," he demands. "That's a silhouette I'd know anywhere."

Mary smiles at the familiar routine and holds still. Then he diverges from the normal ritual and she frowns. He pulls a sheet of paper out of his pocket and starts tracing her shadow on _that _instead. "Bert?" she asks, her eyes narrowing.

"It's a silhouette I'd like to remember," he explains, not looking up.

"Bert?" she asks again.

He finishes the sketch and tucks it away. "It's nothing, Mary Poppins. It's good to see you back in London."

"Something is different," Mary accuses him. "What are you not telling me?"

"Nothin' to worry your pretty 'ead over, Mary. Where are the young 'uns?"

"Herbert Alfred, you are being maddeningly vague. I demand an answer."

"It's not important."

"Bert, an answer, if you please." She starts impatiently tapping her foot.

He can't meet her eyes when he announces, "I've been drafted."

She sits down ungracefully on a bench that has the good sense to move to catch her. "Oh."

He sits down beside her but doesn't say anything.

Bert, her dearest friend, _her _Bert going to war. It's not _fair_. It's not fair at all. _War is never fair_, she thinks to herself. It strikes her how selfish she's being. She's not the only, the first, or the last person to get this news. Not even close. And yet it seems like her grief is the only one that matters. "When do you leave?" she asks quietly.

He twiddles his thumbs and continues to not look at her. "Tomorrow."

Her head whips to look at him. "_Tomorrow_? How… how long have you known?"

His hands come up to cover his eyes. "Almost two months."

He knew she wouldn't be thrilled with that answer, but he doesn't expect the response he gets. "Go to _hell_, Herbert Alfred!" she curses him, punching him in the chest and springing up.

"Ow!" he exclaims.

"Two months and not a word? Simply picking up a pencil is too difficult a task? What if I hadn't come back in time? What if I came back to London and you were simply _gone_?"

"I didn't want you to worry," he says quietly.

She turns sharply on her heel and strides away. He runs after her. "Mary! Mary! C'mon, I was trying to do the right thing!"

"The right thing? The _right thing_, Bert? The _right thing _would have been to let me know! Now I have to figure out how to say goodbye to you in just one day!" Her breath is heavy and she tries to inhale slowly to steady herself. "I'm sorry. I lost my temper for a moment. Though that's not to say I'm not still thoroughly enraged."

He raises an eyebrow and gives her the look only he can give her, the one that says he knows her inside and out. "Are you mad at me for not telling you or are you mad at me for going?" he asks.

He always could read her mind.

"Of course I'm angry with you for not telling me. It would be ridiculous to be angry over something you had no control over," she replies haughtily but she can see in his eyes that he knows differently.

"Mary, d'you really think I'd be leaving if I 'ad a choice?"

She sniffs and dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. "I don't know. Perhaps you have some sort of secret death wish," she replies, a little bit of her former spark lighting her eyes.

"I promise you I don't."

She studies the ground. "I'll miss you, Bert. My days simply won't be the same."

He takes her arm with a brave grin. "And I'll just be counting the days 'til I'm 'ome again."

They spend the rest of the day like that, walking arm and arm, trying to forget for just a moment. Neither succeeds, but it's a comfort to try.

It gets late and Bert starts insisting that she needs to get home. "I don't suppose you're going to allow me to see you off tomorrow morning," she muses thoughtfully.

"No. I won't."

"I thought not."

"I… That would make it 'arder than it need be, Mary."

She sighs and grimaces. "If I could switch places with you, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"Don't even think that," he orders. "The world needs Mary Poppins, but what's one more Bert Alfred? I've made no difference in the world."

"Don't _say _that, Bert!" she cries. "You've made all the difference in the world… All the difference in _my_ world at the very least."

"Mary-" Her name is strangled in his throat as they both try to hold back tears. They've reached Uncle Albert's house, where she'll be staying the night.

She places a gloved hand on his cheek. "Don't be a hero, Bert. Please."

"What?"

"I know you, Herbert Alfred," she says with a sad, wry grin. "Whether you like it or not. You are a gentleman and a hero. And this is the only time I have ever despised those traits in you."

"Mary-"

"If you go over and be yourself, you'll get yourself killed. So I'm asking, no, I'm begging you, please, _please _be cowardly, be everything you're not. Just come home safely."

He pulls her into a tight hug. "But then I wouldn't be the man you think I am, and I don't think I could live with that."

"But at least you'd be living!" she exclaims. "I don't care what you do, Bert, as long as you come home in one piece and still breathing. There will always be another opportunity to be a hero."

"You always do see the best in people, Mary Poppins."

"It's not that difficult with you. _Please_ be safe. Promise me," she demands, though she knows it's completely irrational to make him promise something he has no control over.

"I promise."

"Take care of yourself, Bert," she breathes and kisses his cheek. Or at least she had been aiming for the cheek. She ends up kissing the corner of his mouth. "Come home safely. Come home to me."

It takes every fiber in her practically perfect body to turn away and walk inside instead of bursting into tears and clinging to him.

0ooo0

It has been seven months. Sporadic letters assure Mary that Bert is managing, that he's still alive. She continues to work as a nanny but she'll admit that her work is probably shoddier than it was a year ago; she's distracted by worry.

A month goes by without a letter, then another, and she starts to panic. There's so much that could possibly be wrong and no news. She goes to bed restless and wakes up feeling more tired than she did the night before. Bert wouldn't keep her waiting like this if he could help it.

And then one night she goes to sleep and dreams.

_She dreams of the sojourn she and Bert had taken with the Banks children. For a moment, everything is pleasant as they run around, teasing each other. But then while attempting to cross the stream she reaches for his arm to steady her. The moment she touches him, his face become almost skeletal as he dissolves into nothingness and she screams._

She wakes up sweaty and scared and certain that something is wrong and determined to do _something, _consequences be damned.

0ooo0

He's not sure exactly how long he's been in this waking dream. Nothing seems real, but if this isn't reality then he's not sure exactly what is. He knows that one minute he had been helping Charlie, a new kid he had sort of taken under his wing, get to cover, the next he was sitting in shock, a piece of shrapnel embedded in a nasty gash in his leg and then he had passed out from blood loss.

Swirling around him, there's talk of infection, of his leg, of whether or not losing it will save his life. But that's silly—where will his leg go? He knows where it is; right where he left it. Well, mostly. In any case, he hasn't lost it at all.

He has a fever because of the infection, which explains the strange, hallucinogenic dreams. But then he has one quite unlike those he's previously had due to the pain, the sickness, or the morphine.

_The room is empty of doctors. The other injured men lie in their beds, moaning their pain. There's a flash of movement that catches his eye. A beautiful woman in a hastily buttoned dress and mismatched shoes tends to the man on his left. Her dark hair falls around her face, down her back in soft waves. "Mary Poppins?" he enquires._

"_Good, you're awake," she says curtly as she finishes with her current patient. "You know," she comments mildly. "I do recall you making me a promise to stay safe and not be heroic."_

"_Well," he grins. "I guess it's just in m' bloodstream."_

"_The only thing in your bloodstream right now is an infection and if you don't fight it off, you're going to lose that leg," she snaps. She pulls out a bottle and pours a spoonful. He grimaces. "Don't give me that look, Herbert Alfred."_

"_Aww, c'mon, Mar…"_

"_My name is Mary, not Mar. I am not a horse, so I'll thank you to remember the y. And men who get themselves shot in the leg must learn to take their medicine. Now open."_

_He obeys her. It tastes like peppermint. "The medicine can only do so much for you, Bert. You have to fight this infection yourself," she tells him. "And if you don't come home alive and with that leg, I swear to the good Lord above, I shan't ever speak to you again!"_

"_So I guess I really don't have much of a choice then,'" he notes with another smile._

_She laughs. "No, you really don't." Then she becomes serious and quiet. "You've done your duty to your country, Bert. It's time to come home. You have duties there as well."_

"_I do?"_

"_Of course! To the other sweeps, to those who rely on you for a smile…" She hesitates but then soldiers on. "To the woman who loves you."_

"_Oh, I 'ave one of those, do I?"_

"_Well, if you'd bother coming home safely, I dare say you might find out," she sniffs._

"_Mary, I just want you to know, whatever happens-"_

"_Bert, we can discuss this later," she interrupts._

"_No, I want to tell you right now. Right this very second. I love you, Mary Poppins. Ever since the day we met, I've been lucky enough to love you."_

_She perches on the side of his cot and strokes his cheek. "And I you, Bert. Now get some sleep." She places a tender kiss on his lips, her loose hair forming a makeshift curtain around their faces. "Please come home to me."_

"_Well, when the offer's so enticing, what man would say no?" he jokes._

_She rolls her eyes. "Go to sleep, Bert. I really must be going. Take care of yourself."_

_She walks to the tent flap, unfurls her umbrella and the wind carries her away far quicker than he would have imagined possible._

0ooo0

She waits impatiently at the docks. Clocks chime the hour and she taps her foot impatiently as she stares at the big ship, waiting for it to open. She glances down and notices the hem of her skirt is muddy so she glares until the mud is embarrassed enough to slip right off.

Suddenly people begin pouring from the ship and Mary starts frantically searching for the one face she wants. There are shouts of joy as people are reunited with their loved ones but she hears none of it. All she wants is the one face she's looking for.

A couple of false positives shake her. Nothing could have happened between the time he wrote her saying he'd be coming home and now, right?

And then, just when she feels a sort of familiar panic start coursing through her, she's found him. He gives her a wry sort of grin. He's limping, leaning heavily on a cane, but _walking _on two beautiful legs.

She nearly knocks him off those two legs when she launches herself into his arms. "Oh, Bert!" she cries, covering his face with kisses.

"If I knew this was the sort of reception I'd be getting, I'd 'ave come 'ome a lot sooner!" he jokes.

She remembers herself and extricates herself, coughing discreetly and smoothing her dress. "You're looking fine, Bert."

"I look like a man with a limp, but the doctors said it's a miracle I didn't lose the leg altogether."

"Oh?" Mary asks mildly.

"Funniest thing. I was supposed to lose my leg on account of the infection but then I 'ad this dream that we were talking an' you made me take some of that medicine of yours. Next thing I know, doctors are saying I'll be alright, that my leg's been taken care of and sewn up with what looks like a woman's stitches."

"Really? How interesting."

"See, the thing is it felt real. But I know it couldn't be real because I know you wouldn't ever be daft enough to fly into a war zone just to save me leg."

"The very idea!" she huffs. "Of course I would never allow something as trivial as an amputation to cloud my judgment."

He hugs her and then frowns. "What 'appened to your eye?"

"My eye?" she wonders, then remembers the tiny white scar that now rests above her right eyebrow. "Oh, just a bit of clumsiness. Nothing to worry about."

"Mary, why aren't you hugging me with your right arm?"

"Same bit of clumsiness, Bert, you really needn't worry. I just need to remember to pay attention to where I fly."

"Mary, you didn't-"

"Oh, honestly!" she exclaims. "I am not stupid enough to fly into an active war zone, Bert. I am many things, but suicidal is not one of them. Now, if I wanted to play Twenty Questions, I could have stayed home with the children. I came here to welcome you home and you haven't allowed me that opportunity yet."

"Y'know, in that dream," He says the word dream disbelievingly, "you said something about me 'aving duties to the woman 'oo loves me."

"You have one of those, do you?" she grins.

"Do I?"

She glances at the ground in front of them shyly. "Your dream Mary Poppins may have not been too far off the mark."

She turns to find him beaming at her. Mary tilts forward and presses her lips to his. "Wow," he breathes when the separate.

"You know," she comments, "I have prayed every day for the past year for your safe return, but I've been praying for the courage to do that for even longer."

"Y'know," he tells her, grinning at the repeated phrase. "I love you. Ever since the day we met, I've been lucky enough to love you."

"And I you, Bert," she responds, wrapping her left arm around his waist, tucking herself into his embrace and helping to support him all in one gesture. She can't lift her right arm for the time being, due to the bandage covering the fairly deep wound that looks suspiciously like a glancing blow from some shrapnel, though how she could have _possibly_ ever gotten near shrapnel is anybody's guess.

They continue on their way home, battered, bruised, and never happier.

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><p><strong>I was talking to one of my best friends- who reads my Grey's Anatomy stories- and we realized how short the life expectancies are for a lot of my characters. I'm never going to live that down. Don't worry though; I have a very clear cut rule in my head about Mary Poppins. Namely that YOU DON'T KILL MARY FREAKIN' POPPINS. (This rule also applies to a certain chimney sweep, but really, it's just more fun to say Mary Freakin' Poppins.)<strong>

**I apologize if I sound like a crazy person- it's 4 in the morning and I'm very tired.**

**-Juli-**


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